


The Hammer and the Upstairs Room

by norgbelulah



Series: Set Fire to This House [4]
Category: Justified
Genre: Anal Play, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Cohabitation, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Investigations, M/M, Moving, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan and Boyd finally take a few steps forward without taking any back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hammer and the Upstairs Room

Boyd’s eyes were on the carpet, near the corner towards the bathroom, where Raylan’s blood had been spilled and sprayed along the wall. Though, it hadn’t really.

“It’s a different room,” Raylan said quietly as he put on his shirt.

Boyd closed his eyes. “I know.” He was still in the bed, under the covers, but he didn’t look comfortable.

He’d come for the night because he had to go over to the lawyer’s that day to finalize some things with his father’s property, the stuff that was owned legally and was in the process of being passed to him. He hadn’t been there since Hunter Mosely’s idiot nephew put a load of scatter shot into Raylan’s shoulder.

Hadn’t been to Lexington to stay, anyway. This room they were in, wasn’t the same room. Raylan had switched, months ago, after it became apparent they weren’t going to rip up the soiled carpet until he vacated.

Boyd curled himself up in the sheets and turned his face to the pillow. Raylan had his tie in hand. “What time do you have to be there?” It was quarter to eight.

“One-thirty,” Boyd mumbled tiredly. Raylan had felt his restlessness all night. He hadn’t slept barely at all.

“You just gonna lie here ‘til after lunch?” Raylan asked.

“Maybe.”

Raylan went into the bathroom, and brushed his teeth, lost in memories and thinking of Boyd’s eyes on the carpet. When he came back out, he asked in a low, certain tone, “You’re not going to come here again to stay, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” Boyd answered after a long pause. He met Raylan’s eyes and his brow creased. “I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Raylan grimaced. “It’s different for me. What happened that day,” he said, hesitating before he continued with, “I’m used to it. But, from your perspective, darlin’, I don’t think anybody can just get over that. I should have thought--”

“Don’t, Raylan,” Boyd said, shifting now, stretching, and sitting up. “I didn’t either. But now...”

Raylan frowned. He hated apartment hunting. “Boyd, I don’t know--”

“You want me to come stay in Lexington sometimes, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” Raylan huffed.

“Then I’d like you to find another place. Baby, I can’t sleep here. You stay, we’re both gonna need three fingers in a glass to sleep and then no one’s getting anything up before bed.” He smiled, twisting in the sheets again before slipping out of them and pulling Raylan toward him. “Might as well not bother, then.”

Raylan’s mouth twisted, not really fighting the smile, just not feeling it all the way. “This place is dirt cheap--”

“It shows.”

“I mean,” Raylan gritted his teeth and pulled away, saying, “with the stuff for the house and all the gas back and forth, and trying to save--”

“Raylan, I really think you can find a comparable price--”

“Jesus, will you let me talk about this without a goddamn interruption? I also don’t have a shit ton of time on my hands to go around house hunting all day, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t you make out like I’m asking for something unreasonable here,” Boyd said, suddenly angry. Raylan knew why, though he wasn’t sure what was making him drag his feet on this. It wasn’t unreasonable. A motel was an idiotic place to live, even half the time, had always been.

Raylan glanced at the clock, and instead of apologizing, said, “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

Boyd drew a hand across his eyes.

Raylan slipped on his boots and made a grab for his keys. “Fuck, darlin’, I’m sorry. I just--”

“Hate change,” Boyd finished for him, though Raylan wasn’t even sure that’s what he’d been thinking of saying. “I know. I ain’t mad, baby, just--please?”

“Yes,” Raylan replied quickly, knowing there were no other excuses. He didn’t fucking need them anyway. “Yes. Can we talk more about it later?”

“Of course,” Boyd said gave him a lopsided grin. “You asshole.”

Raylan kissed him quick on the way out the door.

 

Raylan got into the office that morning to the news that the Honorable Judge Michael Reardon had been attacked in his bedroom the previous night by some kind of poisonous snake. The Judge, a character Raylan had heard of but never really encountered before, had apparently requested him specifically and came with a concealed side arm under his robes and a sack full of hate mail from former defendants to his court.

Raylan got the night detail, with an apologetic look from Art. “Didn’t know Boyd was in town or I would have given you the day shift,” he said later when Raylan was on his way out.

Raylan smiled thinly and said it was all right. He took his cell phone on his break and made his phone call.

“Not gonna be back, are you?” Boyd said over the line.

“Nope,” Raylan replied with a sigh and explained about the judge. “Don’t know why he wants me. He had to have heard some shit.”

Boyd laughed. “The good and the bad, I expect. He’ll tell you, minute he sees you, if he’s got such a burning reason.”

“You ain’t gonna stay, are you?” Raylan asked then, suddenly wishing Boyd was right there. He didn’t have enough time to drive back to the motel before he had to meet the judge.

It was Boyd’s turn to sigh now. “No, I don’t think so, Raylan.”

“All right.”

“I’ll leave you some of those apartment hunting papers. Read ‘em, please.”

“Yeah.”

“Raylan,” Boyd sounded unsure.

“I said I would, darlin’.”

“Was just gonna say, I love you, baby.”

“Well, you know me,” Raylan bit out, instead of an apology, again, and they left it more strained than that morning.

Raylan hung up the phone and scowled his way to the judge’s chambers.

When court was adjourned, just a few minutes later, Judge Reardon came in, flanked by two bailiffs and a marshal. Those three dismissed, Raylan took Reardon’s extended hand as the judge said, “Look at you. You are every inch the gunslinger I heard,” and looked him up and down.

“Now, I know you’re into all sorts of shit. David Vasquez filin’ all them reports on the that Harlan sheriff and Mr. Bo Crowder. But, I look at those reports and I say ‘well done’.”

Raylan grimaced. “Now, that last one--”

The judge waved his hand like any objections were beside the point. “I requested you,” he said, pointing a finger, “‘cause I heard you’re a shooter. Also, I heard you were a shooter before I heard you were a homo. No offense.”

“None taken,” Raylan shrugged, but girded himself for the rest of the conversation.

“That how you like to be called then? Homosexual?”

“Tell you the truth, Your Honor, nobody ever asked before,” Raylan said after thinking for a minute. “I suppose, you were to get real technical, some would call me bisexual.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard you dated this one,” Reardon broke in, pointing his thumb over at Winona, who’d just come in after him carrying a bunch of papers and her little typewriter.

She blushed bright red and pled, “He got me drunk and asked for gossip! I’m so sorry.”

Raylan fought a smile at her distress and shrugged again. “I’m more used to talkin’ about it than I once was, let’s say. Don’t worry.”

She gave him a grateful smile and turned and fled the room.

“So, bisexual then?” 

The man was like a train on a single track and the way he was looking at him, Raylan could tell he wasn’t offended or disapproving in any way. He more or less probably thought of Raylan as some kind of oddity, and was just curious as all get out about it. 

It was no skin off Raylan’s back either, so he said, “Judge, I really don’t give two shits what you call or think of me. I’d just like to do my job.”

“Ain’t that all any of us can ask,” he replied with a big smile. “I like you, son, let’s go find out who wants me dead.”

 

Boyd left the lawyer’s feeling slightly unsettled. He’d signed some papers, initialled some more, and now the remainder of his father’s property--what hadn’t been seized by the government--was in his sole possession. He’d anticipated feeling more ambivalent about the idea, much like the way Raylan seemed to feel about his inheriting his father’s house those years ago. Instead, he felt vaguely disgusted, the thought of having something of Bo’s curdling sourly in his stomach.

It was strange because, unlike Raylan and his once loud protestations against keeping the house, it wasn’t as if Boyd didn’t want the land. He’d rather have it poison his thoughts and turn his stomach than let anyone else get their hands on it, especially the goddamn government. He felt greedy for wanting no one else to have it, and he was sickened by the way he’d come into it.

He and Raylan were moving on. They were. 

Boyd would tell himself that when he dwelled, on both good times and bad with his father. It was a complex relationship and a complex man, one Boyd wished sometimes he’d understood better. Then he’d think of the powerplays, the manipulation, the control, that was so important to Bo. And he’d think of the final injuries, the compounded insults to what Boyd had chosen and he’d think, _fuck it, fuck him_.

He wouldn’t sell that land right away, he’d told the lawyer that. But the option wasn’t off the table.

Boyd rubbed at his eyes, sitting at a red light before the on ramp towards Harlan. He really wanted to see Raylan.

He did a U-turn at the green and drove back to the courthouse.

 

When Boyd arrived at the Marshal’s office, it was unusually empty.

Art was on the phone, standing behind his desk, as Boyd approached. He waved Boyd in, as he hung up and said, “You missed all the excitement.”

Boyd’s brows rose. “Did I?”

“That judge Raylan’s shadowing today drove his car into a ditch on his way home. Someone piped his exhaust back into the car.”

A stab of something like fear accompanied a single beat of Boyd’s heart, but he didn’t think it showed on his face. “I trust Raylan’s all right.”

“He was following in a different car. He’s fine. Had to pull the judge from his vehicle, though. It wasn’t much of a scene. He’ll be with Reardon for the evening,” Art said, frowning now. “I thought he told you that.”

Boyd tried to smile. “He did. I just thought maybe I could catch him, before I drove back. We, ah, had a discussion of a particular nature this morning. I didn’t want to leave it too long.”

Art gave him an indulgent smile. “You’re worried Raylan’s mad at you?”

“Not especially. But I’m worried he thinks I’m mad at him.”

“Well, he did seem sort of off this morning.” Art took a long look at Boyd, who knew he looked tired and worn thin as he felt. “He said you were going this afternoon. Weren’t going to stay another night.”

“I am,” Boyd said self-consciously. “I’m off now. I just...thought I might catch him.” He was getting to be as bad as Raylan when it came to lying to Art. 

Boyd wasn’t really sure what to do with that, but the chief seemed to be enjoying it. He smiled, real big, and said, “Boyd, did I mention my wife is out of town this week?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, she is. And because she is, I’m conscripting you to eat dinner with me. No man wants to eat alone.”

Boyd thought that might be true, but when Raylan was gone more than half the week almost every week, he’d been just fine eating alone for several years now. “I don’t know, Art. I should really--”

“Son, I won’t do you the injury of having you eat anything I’ve cooked myself. We’re just gonna walk on down around the corner to a little bar I know. Very casual, pretty good fixings.” 

Art was pinning him with a look that brooked very little further argument, so Boyd licked his lips, took a breath and said, “Yeah, all right,” then was pissed by how much he’d sounded like Raylan.

Art laughed, murmuring something about peas in a pod, then told him, “I gotta do one or two more things here and then we’ll go. Help yourself to some coffee or whatever.”

Boyd didn’t like drinking coffee in the middle of the day. It made him jittery, like he was too big for his own skin, and he already felt a little like that today, so he didn’t think it was a good idea. He left the office, jerking his thumb in that direction and looking through the glass door at Art, and took a long draught from the water fountain.

As he was drinking, he heard hushed whispers coming from down the hall.

“You said you wondered what the deputy’s boyfriend looked like, right? Well, there you go. That’s him.”

“How do you know?”

“He was in giving a statement after all that stuff happened. When Givens was still in the hospital. Tori from research pointed him out. He looked like hell. Looks a lot better now.”

“Oh my god, I think he can hear you,” the other’s voice rose half an octave and fell to a hushed whisper.

“So? I don’t have to go that way.”

“I do!”

He stood up from the fountain and raised his eyes, looking the women over. He withheld his smile for now.

He thought the one with the big eyes and embarrassed smile must be the second one, the one who was curious, and the one who had to pass him. She settled her shoulders, looked him square in the eye, and walked forward, hand extended. “Hi,” she said. “My name’s Winona, and that was really, really terrible of us. We’re so sorry.” She looked back at her companion who was high-tailing it away, waving a manicured hand back at them. “I’m gonna kill her,” Winona muttered.

Boyd had already taken her hand, but now he shook it, smiling politely and said, “Boyd Crowder. I am, as you’ve heard, Raylan Givens’ boyfriend.”

“Haha,” she said, not laughed, “Yes. I have heard that.” Then she paused and made a face like she was either forcing herself to speak or trying to stop herself from asking, “How did you meet him, uh, if that’s not too nosy?”

Boyd raised his brows. “I’ve always known Raylan. Since we were kids. You’re a friend of his?” 

“Um, sort of,” she hedged.

“And he didn’t tell you?” Boyd was pretty sure Raylan was more open with people lately about their relationship. It seemed strange for him to avoid the subject with this particular woman.

She shook her head, wincing slightly. “Oh, no, I just... couldn’t ask him. You know--it was too weird.”

Boyd felt like backing up a step, was this some sort of problem she was having with Raylan having a boyfriend? Why then, did she feel like she could ask him? 

She must have caught his disturbed look because she backpedalled a bit, saying, “Oh, no. Oh my God. He must not have told you.” She groaned. “This is so awkward. I, uh, dated him--Raylan. Back in Salt Lake.”

Boyd had a firm grip on his jaw, or it would have been on the floor. “Dated? For how long?”

“Just two dates. I mean, we met at the bar all the courthouse people went to. So, he made eyes at me and we talked about how terrible we thought Kentucky was and he asked me to dinner. We went and two days later he said he had to go home for his father’s funeral.”

“Christ,” Boyd murmured and she politely said nothing.

When he didn’t speak again, she went on quickly, “Anyway, I saw him once after that, but his mind was elsewhere and he never called again.”

Boyd blinked at her and she peered at him. “I can’t believe he never said anything to you. Especially after I turned up here six months ago.”

Boyd smiled. “That’s Raylan. He don’t think you need to know a thing, he’s not gonna tell you just to make conversation.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’d hate that.”

Boyd looked her up and down. She was a well put together girl, tall and thin, good proportions, nice clothes, pretty, curling hair. She reminded him of Ava, in that there seemed to be some steel in her spine, when she wasn’t making a face like she just swallowed her whole foot and was now working on the ankle. 

“I’m not surprised to hear about the dates,” he said, quirking his lips. “You’re just his type.”

“What, blonde?” she replied quick and winced, probably realizing Boyd’s hair is definitely brown.

He smiled for real then, feeling guilty for making it so difficult for her to get a read on him. “No,” he said, “gorgeous.” She laughed, sounding a little relieved.

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me,” she said then, looking everywhere but at his face. “Seeing as Raylan found out today I totally outed him to Judge Reardon.”

“How did you manage to do that?”

“I was the new girl,” she started, sounding defensive and self-deprecating at the same time. “Vasquez brought me in to hear some testimony Raylan was giving about...” she looked at him now, hesitating, but forged on with, “your family stuff and whatever he was saying happened at his place. And I was just typing away, to the tune of ‘the most mysterious man I ever wanted to screw has a five-year boyfriend he must have got with immediately after he never called me again.’”

“That’s rough, honey, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“ _That night_ ,” she raised her voice in ironic emphasis, “the judge took me out for welcome drinks and asked for interesting gossip! He said everybody tells the new kid on the block at least one secret. I told him, Jenny the paralegal from the third floor is pregnant without a wedding ring and Deputy Givens is the sexiest gay man I ever lost the chance to fuck.” She blinked at him and pulled back, rolling her eyes at herself and declaring, “And now I’m feeling so guilty about it I’m confessing to his boyfriend, adding insult to injury.”

Boyd laughed softly and told her, “Don’t worry about it. Raylan was mostly out anyway. The judge probably already heard the rumor if he hadn’t heard the name or put a face to it. There was really no hiding it after... what you heard happened at his place.”

“It sounded like pulling teeth when he told Vasquez.”

“Raylan has a thing about public record... and lawyers... and talking about his emotions.” He smirked at her. “I would say I don’t know why I put up with him, but actually, I very much do. And he’s not the one with the--formerly--homicidal family.”

She gave him a tight smile and stepped away taking a her chance at a quick exit. “Yeah, I think I know why you might, too. And I... heard, I suppose, about all that other shit. You boys have certainly been through a lot. A girl can’t really compete.” She winced again at that. “Not as if... I want to steal your boyfriend, Jesus, I’m just gonna go. I’m so sorry.”

Boyd considered this woman, her large eyes and interestingly awkward demeanor. Raylan really must have made an impression on her. Boyd thought he might as well do the same. He smiled, thinking he’d tell Raylan about this later and his boy would laugh and say he shouldn’t have been so mean.

He stretched his smile just a little farther and looked at her with half-lidded eyes, saying, “Raylan ain’t the kind of boy that gets stole unless he wants to, Miss Winona. Where we come from, concerning stealing, it can be hard to tell what’s spoken in jest.” He took a small step forward, but it was enough to prompt her to take another step back. He took her hand in his, so she couldn’t get away too quick, and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Her expression was caught somewhere between a flattered smile and a rictus of terror, so Boyd let go of her hand, just as Art was stepping out of the office. “I can’t leave you Harlan boys alone for more than five minutes at a time, can I?” he asked, jokingly. “Before you know it, you’re frightening the locals.”

“No such thing,” Boyd protested. “I’m hoping, Miss Winona.”

Winona had snatched her hand back and stared at him for a minute like he was going to go for her throat at any second, then she shook her head and smiled, like he’d just played a trick on her. “No, no, of course not. Just--sorry, again, for like, everything. And tell Raylan sorry too, for good measure. I, ah, gotta go. Nice to meet you as well, Boyd.” Her eyes flicked over to Art then back to Boyd and she got a wonderfully wicked look in her eyes as she said, “Raylan’s sure got his hands full with you. I can just tell. Tell him to call me, he ever needs a hand.”

Boyd held back a laugh of surprise and replied, “I just might.” She winked and turned away.

Art huffed a little and put his hands on his hips. “That’s quite a woman,” he told Boyd, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Boyd grinned, turning to Art and replied, “Raylan left her for me.”

Art’s lips twisted a little, like he was trying not to call Boyd a liar. “This is a story I need to hear.”

Boyd shrugged, laughing. “I don’t even know it, just what she said. Raylan never mentioned a girl in Salt Lake.”

“Sounds like him,” Art muttered.

 

Boyd and Art sat down together in a both off to the back of the dimly lit sports bar to which Art had led them. They ordered two beers, a pilsner for Art and an amber lager for Boyd, and waited for them while Art spoke about the work conference his wife was currently attending and about some sports thing his college-age daughter had just done. There was a team involved, maybe he’d said hockey, but it was spring, so field hockey seemed more likely. Art was speaking like he should know.

When they got their drinks, Art looked up at Boyd’s expression, attempting politely curious, but hiding sincere confusion, and said, “Raylan never talks to you about this kind of stuff does he? Office news, gossip and such?”

Boyd smiled. “He might, if he paid any attention to such things. I’m sure he just cancels it out as white noise.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Art huffed. “What do you boys talk about, then?”

“Oh, sometimes Raylan will regale me with a tale of heroism,” Boyd replied with a smirk, then continued seriously, “We talk about the house, news from town, books I’ve been reading.”

“He wouldn’t seem to be too invested in literary circles,” Art said.

Boyd shrugged. “Raylan likes a good story, but he wants it over and done in two and a half hours or less. And if it’s evening, he’ll fall asleep at anything that doesn’t include gunfire or nudity.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down too much, I’m guessing.”

Boyd shook his head and took a drink. “We get by. He does like having the cable though. Neither of us had any more than five or six channels on rabbit ears when we were kids--even in the eighties--and I think Raylan just had black and white for a long time, ‘cause his daddy kept breakin’ all their tvs.”

At Art’s expression, Boyd wished he hadn’t said anything about that. He forgot sometimes how people who weren’t from Harlan would look, hearing something like that. It was an appropriate way to look, and Boyd wouldn’t expect any less from Art, who did know about Raylan’s personal history. But it felt like a small betrayal, saying things for Raylan, about him, that Boyd knew he wouldn’t care for people to hear.

Boyd wasn’t used to talking about Raylan in this way. What they did and didn’t do together, how they were. No one at home ever asked. Helen could tell, and Ava, so Boyd had never had to play catch up, or get-to-know-you-better, with anyone who was seriously interested in his love life. He didn’t care for how off balance it made him, how unusually difficult he found it to be.

“Would you mind telling me a little more about Raylan’s father?” Art’s question was soft and tentative, the way Boyd figured he talk to a traumatized witness out of whom he needed to get something important. 

Boyd took another long draught from his beer and thinned his lips before speaking. “I’m gonna tell you one very clear memory I have of Arlo Givens, and anything else you’ll have to hear from Raylan himself, who I’m quite certain is the one you should be asking, you want to know so dearly.”

“All right.”

“When Raylan and I were kids, our daddies were business associates. They worked together a lot. When we were teenagers and in the mine, they’d had a falling out, and Raylan steered me clear of his home, for more reasons than just that one.”

Art gave Boyd a look, but he shook his head and continued, saying, “After Raylan left Harlan, I... started helping out a little, with this and that. Before you say anything, the statute of limitations on anything I personally participated in at that time is way past up.”

“I wouldn’t say anything anyway, son,” Art replied and Boyd looked up at him. He was shaking his head like Boyd was some kind of idiot.

Boyd smirked. “You know, Raylan would. I think.”

“He’s sensitive, as he should be with how it might look. But I know that’s why you boys were careful, are careful. I get it, Boyd. It’s hard pulling up roots.”

“We’re still there, Art.”

“Transplanting, then.”

Boyd laughed, but sobered as he went back to his story. “So I was there, one time, hanging around, when my daddy called Arlo up to help him take care of somethin’. You see, sometimes, people couldn’t pay for the protection. I’m sure you’ve heard of such a phenomenon. My daddy, he always called Arlo when that happened. Daddy was never one to get his hands real dirty.”

“Raylan’s father was a leg-breaker?”

“Among other things. But,” Boyd’s mouth twisted off to the side in some semblance of humor, “It might have been his true calling. I swear I never heard he could do anything better than putting the fear of God and a baseball bat into a man.”

Boyd was finished with his beer and he’d drank it too goddamn fast on an empty stomach. “A baseball bat, Jesus,” he said, fingering his glass. “They did the routine, you might remember, Daddy had Arlo work this guy over. Not two boys though, just Arlo, and he wasn’t ever real big, just... mean, and fierce with it and his eyes were so angry, but he was smiling too, like he was having fun. And then he pulled back, because it was Daddy’s turn to talk some shit, about the money that man didn’t have, couldn’t get, and how his family was gonna starve if they threw him in some ditch, down some mine shaft. And he begged and begged and Daddy kicked him in the stomach and he slid across the floor. And he was cryin’ and sayin’ he’d get it, he’d get it somehow, and he screamed, screamed bloody murder when Arlo came near him again with that bat in his hand.”

Boyd looked up at Art then, letting the glass go and hearing it rattle until it righted itself on the table. The man’s expression was locked down, but he was listening intently. “Arlo Givens laughed at that man, like he was laughing at fucking Johnny Carson and he said, “You sound like my woman on a good night, boy. I’m gettin’ a little excited.”

“Jesus Christ,” Art breathed.

“I decided then that wasn’t no way to make my fuckin’ money,” Boyd said darkly, then smirked, “Which is why I started robbing banks. Allegedly.”

Art drained his drink and gave him a quelling look. “Let’s get some goddamn food, Boyd.”

 

Once they did get their food, Boyd could tell Art was making a concentrated effort to talk about things not related to Boyd and Raylan’s past, or anything in Harlan for that matter.

He talked more about his wife, explaining that she’d stayed at home with their daughter until the girl reached high school, then went back to work and was now some kind of party planner for large international corporations. Her work took her all around the world and she loved it so much Art felt he couldn’t really complain about having to eat by himself more often than he used to.

He went on to talk about his daughter, how she was at college in Georgia, seeing as she never quite forgave him for moving the family out to Kentucky before she graduated. His praise of the girl, her athletics, her grades, her manners even, was glowing and Boyd found himself smiling indulgently as Art went on and on, finally catching himself with a, “Well, shit, listen to me.”

Boyd shook his head and said it was fine.

“When I wasn’t too much younger than you, son, I think my eyes would roll back in my head, I heard an old man talk about his kid for so long.”

“It’s a fortunate thing, then, Art,” Boyd replied, “You caught me at a slightly more mature age.”

Art laughed then looked as though he were holding back a question.

Boyd smiled. “Go on,” he said.

Art shot him a look that said, “You’re too smart for your own good,” before he voiced his question. “You never, felt that desire? Some men might call it a need--”

“To procreate?” Boyd finished, his brows drawn up high.

“Sure,” Art said. “If that’s the word you want to use.”

Boyd contemplated, for a moment, playing on Art’s very mild prejudices and pretending as though he had some kind of secret by-blow or a pack of them. Then he thought that might be a little too mean for how nice Art was being to him, how open they’d already been in this conversation. So he shook his head and replied, “In Harlan, seems to me, most people only have children through misadventure. I was always careful, and I never gave it much thought other than to avoid it, especially after I realized I wasn’t gonna love any woman the way I loved Raylan, even when we weren’t together.”

Art nodded like he understood, but Boyd felt compelled to continue speaking, perhaps he was trying to explain it to himself. “Doing that, bringing somebody into a place like Harlan, with somebody you don’t love right, that’s what turns you mean, turns you hard and cold, like Arlo or my daddy.”

“Your father didn’t love your mother?”

Boyd smiled with an old sadness shining through. “My mother may have been the only thing my father truly loved that he didn’t wholly own. He loved her, I think, like I love Raylan. When she died, it turned his head around. He never looked at anything the same, never loved anything like that again. I always thought he didn’t really like much after that either.”

“Not even his children?”

“His children were _his_. He didn’t have to love us. He molded in the way he saw fit, to bring himself whatever status, whatever gratification he pleased. I’m sure that’s what Arlo thought he was doing too, with Raylan and his fists and his hate. But Arlo didn’t know what he was about. My daddy was always the better strategist and it was Raylan and I who chose for each other regardless.”

“But you’re thinking what happened to him is what’ll happen to you, if Raylan goes before you?”

Boyd looked hard at Art He really hadn’t meant for the conversation to go in this particular direction. “You say that like I’m worried about it. Worried implies uncertainty, Art. I know how I’m like him and how I ain’t. I’ve lived without Raylan in my life and it took me places I don’t really care for these days. I _know_ how it would go, and it frightens me.”

Art looked at him like he didn’t quite believe him, thinned his lips, and then said, “Well, now I know why you were so upset when he pulled that will shit on you a few months back.”

Boyd pulled his lips across his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I’ll burn that house down before I live in it without him.”

Art made a face and picked up the last of his steak on his fork, saying, “You Harlan boys sure are fond of hyperbole,” before sticking it in his mouth.

Boyd shrugged and finished off his own meal, deciding to let him think that’s what it was.

They talked about UK basketball for the rest of the time they spent in the bar and Boyd tried to pretend he gave a damn. 

Afterwards, they walked back towards the courthouse and Art fixed him with another look. “You’re not driving back now, are you?”

Boyd looked at his watch and thought about how many drinks he’d had. “I suppose not,” he answered. 

“You need a ride over there?”

“No, sir,” he said and shook Art’s hand. “Thank you, though. It’s surely been nice talking to you tonight, Art.”

“Likewise, Boyd,” Art replied. “And you give me a call next time you’re comin’ down. I’ll make sure I don’t put him on something overnight like this again. He never bothers to tell me these things.”

Boyd bit back a response regarding Raylan having to get a new place first. Art really didn’t need to know about _all_ of their shit tonight. “Will do,” he said instead. “I know how he can be.”

He got in his truck, drove over to a liquor store where he bought a 16 ounce bottle of Wild Turkey then went on to Raylan’s motel room. He didn’t have a key, as he rarely needed one, but it wasn’t too cold, so he sat outside on the porch and settled down to wait.

When the temperature dropped, a few degrees every half hour or so, Boyd just drank himself warmer. Raylan was going to be back soon anyway.

 

After the carbon monoxide in the judge’s car, Raylan went over to the man’s home and chatted for a bit over a drink. 

Against protocol or not, Raylan found it hard to refuse an offer of alcohol in good faith, especially after one of the parties involved had experienced some kind of life-threatening event. He took his slow and listened to Reardon admit he had no real idea who the person after him might be. 

They agreed a list from Raylan’s office would probably be in order, but before Raylan could get up from the expensively leather upholstered couch in which he’d been invited to sit, the judge stood and poured himself another one, asking as he did so, “You’ll forgive me for prying, I hope, Deputy, but I have to ask, do you find it difficult to carry on a relationship with the kind of man that you do?”

Raylan tilted his head back and squinted his eyes. He’d been expecting a question like this, though not quite so soon and not nearly so direct. “I’m not certain I know what kind of man you’re referring to, sir,” he replied.

Reardon smirked, like he thought Raylan was being smart. “Come on. Man from a family like that, coming out of a place like that--and before you say anything, I do know you’re from there too. He’s got an arrest record, son. Do you find it difficult?”

“Well, there always seem to be difficulties of one kind or another,” Raylan said, shrugging. He was a little put off by the naked curiosity of the question, the lack of tact. “But no, the _kind of man_ Boyd is, that was never a real problem. What he did or did not do, before--and I would like to point out, that arrest record exists, but he was never convicted or incarcerated for anything--was never something we discussed. It was not my business until there was no business.”

“So you’re saying he quit for you,” the judge said. Though, no, that wasn’t exactly what Raylan had said, but he didn’t want to argue semantics, that was more Boyd’s forte. “And you have no doubt of the veracity of his claim?”

Raylan set his glass down. “No, I’ve never had a reason to doubt,” he replied. “That’s the kind of man he is.”

“Oh, don’t tell me I’ve offended you, Deputy,” Reardon said, smiling now. “You’ve got to have grown a thicker skin than that with everything you been up to.”

“No sir,” Raylan returned, standing. “I’m not offended, I just have to go get that list for you.” He put his hat on before he walked out of the room.

 

When he got back, with more information on Reardon’s history, the judge dragged him to this shitty honky tonk titty bar near the airport where all the girls wore cowboy hats and knew him by his title. He flirted with them all and Raylan couldn’t wipe the uncomfortable grimace off his face, especially after Reardon teased him that his “snake charmer” had the eyes for him.

“I bet your boyfriend’d be mad,” the judge said with a wink and Raylan wasn’t sure what face he made.

He got a water with his drink.

They talk about this defendant Reardon had in his early court days, before he went Federal, who’d been visibly abused, looked like he was acting out and could eventually straighten up. Despite the judge’s feeling that he was just a bad egg, he let him go on time served and a year later the man had killed a kid and a cop.

Raylan’s mouth twisted up at the story, though he was keeping his eye on everyone and everything in the bar. 

He understood the urge to cut people breaks. It was easy sometimes in Harlan, where he knew how tough it could be. God knew, it was easy for him to justify the things Boyd had done in the past, or what Raylan might conclude he had done, just because of who Boyd was to him. 

And he understood the urge, once the universe slapped you across the face for trying to be decent to a man who didn’t understand the definition of decency, to put the hammer down forever on that kind of shit. But it seemed a little excessive for no one ever after that to deserve a break because Reardon couldn’t call it as good as he wanted to the first time.

“But you can’t let those regrets follow you around,” Reardon was saying. “You regret shooting anybody you put down? Bo Crowder, for example.”

“I didn’t shoot Bo Crowder,” Raylan answered distractedly. There was a guy he recognized going for the bathroom, he’d been looking, staring really, right in their direction. “It was the two cubans, or the one anyway. He died en route to the hospital.”

“Well, you got your story straight anyway,” the judge said and Raylan turned back to him fast, not sure what he was implying. “Bet you wanted to kill him though, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Raylan said, ready to end this conversation as soon as possible. “But I would have had to do it in cold blood, seeing as my life was no longer in danger. I was so fucked up from what he’d given me, I would have done it too. And you know who stopped me? Boyd. Because that’s the kind of man he is. No matter how much we both wanted that man dead, Boyd kept him alive as long as he could so a gavel slamming judge like you wouldn’t have the chance to end my career in a goddamn jail cell.”

Reardon blinked at Raylan and set his empty drink down. “My, now I really have offended you,” he said. 

“Not really,” Raylan said quickly then motioned for the judge to follow him into the men’s room. “Take a look at this guy for me.”

The man in the hunting cap with the stupid hair, the one Raylan had seen eyeing them, gave him a weird look as he walked into the room and just stood there. “What’s your problem, guy?” he asked.

Raylan flashed his badge and barely listened to the man’s nervous, homophobic yammerings until Raylan told him to turn around.

“Sorry, man, I don’t swing that way,” he said, like the line was in some way original and highly amusing.

Raylan smirked and replied stepping forward, “Well that’s good, ‘cause I don’t really find you all that attractive plus I got a boyfriend a couple counties over. Spread your legs for me now. Just like that.”

The asshole blinked and Raylan could just tell he was trying to figure out whether or not Raylan had been joking. The judge waiting behind him laughed a loud bark, but couldn’t identify the man as anyone he knew or had seen before.

They left the bar about an hour later, after the judge got what he wanted. Raylan was able to leave the man’s home for good once he’d briefed his late-night replacement. 

He was exhausted. It was weird. He felt like he was wound just a bit too tight, even after the kind of day he’d had. Though, it took him a minute of serious thought to figure out from what. 

Thanks to Reardon’s direct questioning of just who Raylan thought he was, exactly where he was coming from, he’d been forced to work under the impression he was now representing this whole group of people with which he’d barely ever identified before. For some reason, Raylan had never thought about it that way, until someone just came out and asked him and he’d had to answer. 

He drove home with the windows down, despite the still chilly air of early spring. He kept the radio off and his thoughts spinning round and round with his worries. He found himself wishing Boyd could have stayed another night.

He was pleasantly surprised, and a little perplexed, to find Boyd sitting outside his room at the motel, bundled up in his coat with a half empty, half-handle of Wild Turkey next to his chair. He was half asleep too, though he blinked his eyes open as Raylan approached.

“Hey, Raylan,” he said with a slow smile.

Raylan picked up the bottle and took a drink. “I thought you were going.” He wasn’t mad or anything, just confused.

Boyd shrugged. His voice was thick with sleep. “I was. Decided not to.”

There was something about that little shrug. Usually Boyd offered up a shrug when he didn’t know something and couldn’t give a shit either way. He’d do it with a smile, a laugh even, a “fuck you” to his lack of knowledge. This shrug was tight and so was his face. Maybe he was just cold though. “Okay,” Raylan said. “I woulda given you my key if--”

“You didn’t know.”

“You could have called, darlin’.”

Boyd shrugged again and it was a bit more loose, though not so much to make Raylan feel better. “I didn’t think you’d be...what time is it anyway?”

“Like 2:30.”

Boyd rubbed a hand across his eyes. His fingers were red and raw looking from the bite in the air. It was about forty-five or fifty degrees, but that was pretty cold if he was just sitting around.

“How long you been sitting here, Boyd?” He asked reaching down to pull his boy to his feet.

Boyd’s limbs must have been stiff, because he moved slow and with a long groan. “Couple hours, maybe--”

“Jesus, come the fuck inside,” Raylan ground out, sliding his key hard into the lock and pushing the door open. He pulled Boyd inside and told him, pushing him towards the bathroom, “Get in the shower. Warm up.”

Boyd turned right back around to face him and pressed himself close, his chilled hands rising to Raylan’s face, warming themselves on his skin. “No,” he murmured. “You do it.”

He kissed him then, firmly, pulling closer, needing something and Raylan tried to give whatever he could. Then he huffed something between a sigh and a laugh, pulling back slightly and saying, “Fine. Come here.” He dragged Boyd into the tiny bathroom, turned on the hot water, and took off all Boyd’s clothes then his own.

Boyd watched him with a funny look, helping just a little with his clothing and smiling indulgently when Raylan pushed him into the shower.

“The temperature only really dropped a half hour ago, baby,” Boyd said as Raylan lifted his hands to either side of his face. “I was fine.”

“Mmhmmm,” Raylan answered, not really interested in arguing about it at this point. He was the one who kissed Boyd then, long and sweet, thinking about how happy he was Boyd stayed. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said softly and went down on his knees to show him.

Boyd took a sharp breath when Raylan’s lips came around him. His hands, warm now from the shower, slid easily into Raylan’s wet hair, twisting gently, making Raylan moan.

Raylan slipped off for a second, laved once, twice, up and down Boyd’s straining cock, then said roughly, “Better hold on, darlin’” and gently sucked one if his balls into his mouth. 

Boyd cried out, reaching up to the shower curtain rod and gripping it tight. “ _Fuck_ , Raylan,” he said. Raylan hummed as he swallowed him down again and the shower beat almost scalding water across his back. The room was so full of steam he could barely see Boyd’s face as he looked up at him and sucked hard.

Boyd came with another grunted curse, digging his toes into the bottom of the tub, and Raylan swallowed it all down, then pulled off and pressed his face to Boyd’s slick stomach. Boyd’s fingers slid into his hair again, keeping him near.

It might have been a few minutes or only thirty seconds, Raylan really wasn't paying attention, before Boyd shifted, saying, “Shit, Raylan, how hot is this water?” He stepped past him and turned the knob for cold, stepping back and frowning. “Your back’s all red. What’s the matter with you?”

Raylan frowned too, standing a little unsteadily to lean against the wall where Boyd had been, effectively trading places with him. “Was thinking about asking you the same question before. Then I thought that might be something an asshole would say.”

Boyd’s lips quirked and he leaned in and kissed a smile on Raylan’s face. “Let’s go to bed and talk about it,” he said.

But they didn’t talk about it, not right away at least. First, they actually took a shower together, got clean. Then they got dressed, and by then it was at least an hour after Raylan had pushed Boyd inside. They laid down heavily on Raylan’s bed, not pressing real close, but near enough their limbs were touching in several places, the fingers of their hands, Raylan’s left, Boyd’s right, intertwined.

“I never used to want you when you were gone,” Boyd said suddenly and Raylan turned his head to look him in the eyes. They were serious, but soft, contemplative. “It’s not something I’d let myself do,” he went on. “You were gone. Wasn’t anything I could do about it.” He smiled softly at Raylan. “I knew you’d run if I ever asked you to come before you wanted, or tried to make you stay. And I didn’t want to anyway. I was fine.”

Raylan frowned at him. He wasn’t sure “fine” was the word, not anymore anyway, when he knew how much better it could be now than it once was. Raylan used to miss Boyd all the time, but he’d never think of it that way. He’d miss him in dreams and in sudden flashes of want, pictures in his head of Boyd’s hands, his smile, his eyes filled up with desire and something else. But then he’d blink, take a breath, and think, “That’s nothing. You can’t have that right now,” and he’d wait until he could. But it never made him stop wishing for it.

“I don’t know when I stopped pushing that away,” Boyd said. “When I started wanting you all the time. Needing you near me. That’s not something I ever did before.” 

“You don’t think it’s a bad thing, though, do you?” Raylan asked, shifting closer.

Boyd pressed his forehead to Raylan’s collarbone and squeezed his fingers tight, just for a few seconds, then eased up again. “I don’t know. I don’t--” he took a breath and forced out. “I didn’t go back because I didn’t want to. It just didn’t feel right today.”

Raylan kissed his jaw, the part of him he could get at quickly. This was about control. Boyd was big on that, bigger than Raylan ever had been. “I get it, Boyd.”

“Well, I don’t.” Boyd pulled back, looking exasperated. “I don’t love you any more than I did before. I’m sure of that. Why is it now I change my plans, I wait around all day for you just to settle an argument we barely had, just to settle my fucking nerves about daddy’s land?”

“What about the land?”

“Nothing,” Boyd said brusquely. “It’s stupid. I don’t want the land, but I don’t want anybody else to have it. It’s not worth discussing.”

Raylan frowned again. It wasn’t like Boyd to dismiss his own thoughts and opinions out of hand. It was, in fact, so unlike him, Raylan couldn’t think of a single instance in which he’d done anything like it ever before. He pulled at Boyd’s hand, taking it in both of his, drawing his fingers across his knuckles, his palm. “Darlin’,” he said. “You’ve recently been through a--and you know how much I hate to engage in this kind of talk--a trauma--”

Boyd snorted. “And my trauma is so much greater than yours?”

“You know that’s not how it works,” Raylan answered, forcing himself to look Boyd in the eyes, pushing the words out from some corner of himself in which he rarely dug around. “There are shades of your daddy in that land, in a lot of things about Harlan, just like there’s shades of what happened three doors down in this shitty little room. And just like there’ll always be shades of Arlo in the house, and Mama, too. We can live with them, if we make what was theirs... ours. We just have to give it time.”

Boyd blinked at him, turning in the bed to face him fully, then he smiled. “Just who am I talkin’ to right now? These can’t be the words that are comin’ out of the mouth of Raylan Givens, Raylan There Was Never A Plan Givens--”

“Shut up.” Raylan growled, letting go of Boyd’s hand and pushing at his shoulder, but only so he’d roll onto his back, letting Raylan climb up on top of him. He leaned down and kissed the grin off Boyd’s face. 

Boyd’s hands slid up his thighs, sending shivers down his spine. “You didn’t get yours, baby,” he murmured.

“It’s late,” Raylan answered, not having to look at the clock to know. “Don’t worry about it.”

Boyd smiled, wickedly. “I’ll worry if I want to.” His fingers drew circles across Raylan’s skin, his thighs and his ass and up to the middle of his back, still sensitive from the too hot water. “That head was so good,” he said, dragging out the word lazily. “What do you want, Raylan? I want to give it to you.”

Raylan felt himself growing hard at Boyd’s soft murmurings. “I’ll be so good for you, you’re so good to me,” he said. “I want you to feel how good, Raylan, feel it for me. It’s gonna feel so good, baby. I know it is.” He just kept talking, soft and sure. It washed over Raylan, heady and strong.

Raylan was blinking hard, heart racing, fingers tingling, he was so turned on. “Boyd,” he muttered, starting to rock back and forth, rutting himself against Boyd’s thigh. He hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Where do you want it, Raylan?” Boyd pushed forward, sitting up, pulling Raylan closer. “I can pull it from you, or I can suck it out, what do you want? You can stick it in me, baby, just say the word.”

Raylan made an inarticulate noise in response and he heard Boyd smile. “Jus’ keep talkin’” he muttered. He was doing okay. His head was spinning he was so hard.

But Boyd, he ran his hands up and down Raylan’s skin again and he groaned. “Not just that way, Raylan. Tell me what you want, I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

And Raylan couldn’t think, not about anything but Boyd’s voice and his hands and the pressure was building, but it wasn’t enough. “ _Fuck_ , Boyd,” he said in a tone he didn’t recognize and the only thing he could think to say was, “Jus’ talk. Your hand. Up in me. Remember?”

Raylan blinked down at Boyd’s wide smile and heard him say, soft in his ear, “I remember, baby. That was a good time, huh? So good.” He leaned away to get the lube from the dresser and poured it over all his fingers. “What are you gonna yell for me tonight, baby, I get my hand up in you?”

Raylan let his head fall to Boyd’s shoulder. “Whatever you want,” he said, breathless, beyond caring. 

Boyd pulled him up the bed a bit and smiled, so nice. “I’m gonna take care of you. It’s gonna be so good, baby.” He put a hand on Raylan’s shoulder and said, pushing down, “Lie back now, Raylan,” and Raylan did and felt Boyd’s palm, the left one, slide up to curl around his hip, to brace it down like Raylan was going to buck up any second. He almost did, his cock was aching so much. He moaned. “We haven’t even started yet,” Boyd murmured.

“You fucking liar,” Raylan said, almost deliriously, and Boyd laughed. Then he ghosted his fingers across Raylan’s hole.

“Relax,” Boyd whispered and then kept on talking. He talked about how good it was going to be, how good Raylan was, how much Boyd loved him, how good he wanted him to feel because he loved him so fucking much. All the time Boyd’s fingers were working their way up and inside, one at a time, slipping in and out, curling and crooking, going deeper and deeper, seeming to whisper, to murmur, just like Boyd.

Raylan lost himself in it, in wave after wave of pleasure, pushing up on him, straining for release, hard and tight against his stomach, until Boyd said, from somewhere above him, “You’re doing so good. So good. Now, tell me somethin’, baby.”

“What?” Raylan asked brokenly, hands knotted in the sheets.

“Whatever you want,” Boyd crooned. “Come on now, tell me.”

Raylan shook his head from side to side. He couldn’t think past what Boyd was doing, saying, that Boyd was _here_ when he said he wouldn’t be. “‘M so glad you stayed,” he told him.

Boyd pressed his lips to the inside of Raylan’s thigh, quivering from strain. “Me too,” he replied. “Now, come for me, Raylan,” and pressed in just the right place one last time. Raylan couldn’t imagine a world in which he did anything else but come. He came for _years_. 

Afterwards, Raylan couldn’t really move, couldn’t gather the brain power to do much more than smile up at his beautiful boy, who smiled right back down then disappeared into the bathroom. He came back a moment later and cleaned Raylan up with a damp, warm towel, then pulled him around to the head of the bed. Raylan tried to help but he mostly got the sheets all tangled in his legs so Boyd had to straighten them out because he seriously still could not move with much coordination. “That’s what you get,” Raylan murmured sleepily when Boyd huffed.

Boyd drew his fingers through Raylan’s hair, the long part in the front that always seemed to grow longer and faster than the rest. “I told that judge I was bisexual,” he said, not really thinking about it.

Boyd slid down the bed to look him in the eyes. “Did you now?”

Raylan shrugged. “Well, he asked what I liked to be called. An’ I said, I was bisexual, but I didn’t give a shit what he called me.”

Boyd’s expression broke out into a grin and he kissed Raylan on the forehead. Raylan closed his eyes and found he really didn’t want to open them again. Still, he went on, “So, now that I told him, I’m like, his ambassador for queer law enforcement.”

Boyd’s hand on his cheek drew his eyes open again. “Raylan, what are you talking about?” he asked sincerely.

“He talked to me like I was some kind of collectible figurine. U.S. Deputy Marshal Homo. He never met anybody like me, Boyd. I gotta... represent... or something.”

“Oh, Raylan,” Boyd said, something terribly fond in his voice and eyes. “You never worried about that before today?”

Raylan blinked at him slowly. “No one ever asked about it right off the bat like that. No one talks about it usually. I never had to put no label on anything. Never had to say I was any different.”

“Raylan, baby, you’re not different at all.”

Raylan sighed, sinking further into the pillow. He closed his eyes again. “I know I ain’t. He jus’ thinks so. Plus he was an asshole about you. But...I jus’ gotta... look good.” He paused, then said, “‘M fuckin’ tired, Boyd.

Boyd pulled him close and kissed his head again, this time at the top, on his hair. “You’re gonna do fine, baby.”

 

Raylan was awoken by the ringing of his phone. He heard Boyd shift and groan next to him as he reached for it and growled, “Givens.”

“Raylan,” Art’s voice came over the line with an air of apology. “I know I told you since you were on late, you could have the morning. But we just got a bunch of files pulled on these guys that might have it out for the judge, and I need you to come see if any of them look familiar.”

“What time is it?” Raylan asked blearily, not really thinking about who he was talking to.

“I know that you’re still half asleep, Raylan. So I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that. Put some clothes on and come into the office. Oh, and tell Boyd I said sorry to pull you away again.” Art clicked off and Raylan stared at the phone in his hands for a full ten seconds before he decided he probably didn’t dream the entire conversation.

Boyd rolled over and looked at him with tired eyes. “You should get up,” he said. “Or he’ll call again and he probably won’t be so nice to you.”

Raylan frowned, laying back down and stretching out sore limbs next to his boy. “How did he know you were here?”

“He’s mostly the reason I stayed over.” At Raylan’s questioning glance as he finally sat up and scratched sleepily at his hair, Boyd continued, “I was all wound up after the lawyer’s so I turned around before I got on the highway, went to see if I could catch you at the office. It was just Art there. He made me go to dinner with him.”

Raylan laughed. “She’s off again, huh?”

“Apparently,” Boyd smirked, sitting up too. “Thank you, by the way, for never telling me anything about any of your coworkers, so _I’m_ the one looks like an idiot when they tell me shit like I should know.”

Raylan blinked at him. “That’s their business,” he said defensively. “Why would I tell you? Who talks about that shit?”

Boyd threw a pillow at him. “People, Raylan. People talk about stupid shit. All the time.”

Raylan finally did slide out of bed, tossing the pillow back at him, and walked to the bathroom. When he came out, buttoning his shirt, Boyd was still on the bed but looking at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Raylan asked.

“Speaking of talking about things, baby,” he said with a funny smile. “Sharing information, you could say.”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “Come on, darlin’. Spit it out.”

“I met Winona yesterday too,” Boyd said, no smile any longer, but that funny thing was still in his eyes. Raylan couldn’t tell if he was mad or what.

“Winona? The court reporter, Winona?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Raylan knew it was a misstep. Boyd wouldn’t have brought it up if he hadn’t found out about them in Salt Lake. Which was seriously not a big deal, so he wasn’t really sure what this was about. “Okay,” he forced out before Boyd could actually get mad at him for trying to hide absolutely nothing. “Yeah, so I went on like two dates with her, before I went back for Daddy’s--”

“She told me it was one before and one after,” Boyd interrupted him, but he still didn’t look upset.

“Right,” Raylan said. “I stand corrected. I actually forgot. I’m telling you, Boyd, it’s not--”

Boyd’s expression broke then into a wildly amused grin and he pulled himself off the bed, taking the few steps over to where Raylan stood. “She's a beautiful woman, Raylan. Why didn't you sleep with her?”

“She said that I didn't?”

Boyd just smiled. “You wanted to, didn't you?”

“Not as much as I wanted to get back to you,” he answered and Boyd kissed him.

As Boyd pulled him closer, kissing long and deep, Raylan forced himself to pull back. “I gotta go, darlin’” he murmured to Boyd’s lips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Boyd laughed softly. “I only brought it up now so I wouldn’t forget later.” His fingers were caught in the loops over Raylan’s belt.

“Shit, Boyd,” Raylan said pulling back further. “You know I was pretty concerned you were actually mad. It’s not very nice to scare me like that, huh?” Boyd was pressing forward again.

“Baby,” he answered, “how could I be mad you picked me over a girl like that? And she wanted you badly.” He breathed Raylan in, hard, rumpling up his shirt, pressing him now against the dresser behind them. “You know what she said?” he asked.

Raylan had no idea. And it wasn’t like Boyd to tease him with information like this either. “No, darlin’,” he said with a smile in his voice. “What?”

“She said,” he drew his lips across Raylan’s cheek and to his ear, talking soft, “You got your hands full with me. She said, you should call her, you ever need help.”

Raylan almost shoved him back, but his muscles stiffening up was enough for Boyd to get the hint and pull himself away. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, just as hard as Raylan. “You’d do that?” Raylan asked, his mouth forced down and tight in a serious frown.

“I’d think about it,” Boyd replied, with no hesitation. “If you wanted, Raylan.”

Raylan blinked, shook his head, and looked at the time. “Shit,” he growled. “I--I can’t--I gotta go, Boyd.” He swiped his hat off the dresser and started for the door, still shaking his head. “You... you’re gonna be gone?”

Boyd grimaced. “I got shift tonight. I should be on the road by noon.”

“You should just fuckin’ quit--” Raylan started to say, not thinking again. He broke off because they’d had this conversation before. Boyd had the late shifts now, and not many, not enough to make it worth it. But Boyd didn’t want to be supported and he didn’t have anything else to do--not anything that was legal anyway.

“Don’t worry about what she said,” Boyd told him, like he hadn’t even heard Raylan trying to end the conversation worse so he could think about something else all day. They were both wise enough now to know Raylan didn’t want it in his head because he wanted it so fucking bad. He wished Boyd could leave well enough alone, let them have another fight instead. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Not right now. I’m sorry, baby.”

Raylan’s mouth tightened and then he sighed, putting his hat on, he knew, like a goddamn cowboy. “You know me,” he murmured, then said, “Lock the door before you leave.”

“Like you got so much to steal,” Boyd laughed as Raylan walked out the door.

 

“This is the guy,” Raylan told Tim, holding up the picture of the man he’d seen the night before. He looked through the file and they brought Art up to speed on him. One Virgil Corum, a lowlife just released after eight out of fifteen years for possession with intent to sell. Another case of the maximum sentence.

They spent the afternoon tracking down his ex wife, his kid. They found out he took out a life insurance policy not long before he set out for the judge.

When Raylan told Reardon the “sob story” as the man put it, again at the titty bar, all he got was a bunch of horseshit about it not being his job to care, about no regrets for upholding the law, and Raylan was worried he might go on again about Bo and maybe bring Boyd into it to boot, as some kind of victim of loss and tragedy. 

But instead he sort of eyed Raylan and shook his head like it wasn’t worth it then called one of the girls over. He whispered in her ear like Raylan couldn’t tell what he was asking for before he said he had to take a piss.

Of course, Reardon gave Raylan the slip while he was making sure no one was ready to jump him in the shitter. So when Raylan punched through the fire doors to the parking lot, he wasn’t surprised at all to see Corum standing there with a gun and Reardon with his goddamn pants down.

It would have been a matter of minutes to talk the man down, if the judge hadn’t pulled his piece and shot off two rounds, one hitting Virgil in the shoulder. 

It turned into an hour later, after Raylan heard all of Corum’s woozy bullshit, all of Reardon’s goddamn misconceptions about just what it was a U.S. Marshal was trained to do in these situations, and all the crying of the girls both inside and outside of the titty bar on Airport Road, before he felt like he could get the hell out of there.

By then he needed a drink, so he sat down and had one. Art had already said he didn’t need to be back in real early. The paperwork could wait a half a day.

So Raylan sat down on the far side of the bar and nursed some Woodford Reserve, because he felt let he’d fucking earned it.

“Don’t wanna go home yet, Marshal?” the barkeep asked him, as barkeeps sometimes do.

Raylan smiled. “Can’t,” he replied. “Home’s too far away. I gotta bunk down in some shithole during the week. Find my way home when I get a day or two.”

“That can’t be healthy,” the man, a man of medium build and slightly older years, told him. “You don’t like your place ‘round here then? Even for sleepin’?”

“Funny you should mention that.” Raylan took a sip from the good stuff. “I was told, by someone quite important to me, to find a different place, or I ain’t getting any visits ‘round here for a while.”

“Man,” the guy said, drying off his pint glasses one by one. “It must be a real shithole, then.”

Raylan laughed. “That it is.”

“Listen,” the barkeep said, setting his towel aside and leaning forward. “I only mention this since you said you were looking, but I own another place, closer to campus--not as... colorful... as this joint--and we’re letting the room above it.” He hesitated, but at Raylan’s curious expression went on to say, “You seem like the kind of professional, keeps sort of weird hours. Wouldn’t mind livin’... or sleepin’ above a place that keeps similar hours.”

“I don’t think I would mind that at all,” Raylan said.

“I’d be willing to knock a hundred bucks of the rent, you agree to bounce when you’re available.”

Raylan smiled again, crooked and a little wary. “I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t see the place before I agree. And there’s one or two things you might want to know about me as well.”

“Well, shit, Marshal, I’m just offering you a room,” the barkeep replied with a grin, “We ain’t gettin’ married or anything.”

Raylan just laughed and asked for another.

 

Boyd did quite a bit of thinking on his drive back down to Harlan, more than he did usually about himself or his future rather than whatever he’d been reading or whatever the hell was going on with Raylan.

He realized he needed to make a change. The mine wasn’t really the place for him any longer, not with the way they’d spun him down to two third shifts a week, kept him there for no real reason. And not with the looks he was still getting, months and months after everything came out.

He really had thought people would forget about it, that they’d move on. Most hadn’t and Boyd felt his bitterness growing.

He shouldn’t have argued so hard with Raylan previously about quitting. He actually wanted to, but he didn’t want to be completely dependent on his goddamn boyfriend either and he didn’t want to be a man with no occupation. It didn’t feel right.

Boyd’s thoughts turned to something else that continued to feel heavy as a stone in his belly. Bo’s money.

Not the money in the value of the land, but the stacks of bills buried under it. According to Johnny, there was no way to find out how much was there until they went to go look for it.

Boyd didn’t really want the money, in the same way he didn’t want the land, but he knew it was his now and there was little sense in letting it just sit there and rot in the dirt.

He was a half hour outside of Harlan when he pulled out his phone to call Johnny. He had about three hours before he needed to be at the mine and he was formulating a plan.

They found about six thousand under the floorboards of the first cabin in which they looked and Boyd tossed Johnny about a thousand of it before they left. His cousin smiled at him but warned, “There really might not be much more, Cuz.”

Boyd grinned as he opened the door to his pickup. ‘I got a good feeling, Johnny, and I got good reason to keep you happy, all right?”

“Sure, Boyd.” he said.

“You doin’ everything I said?”

Johnny nodded, sober now. “I’ll let you know, anything goes sideways. We run into problems.”

Boyd knew his eyes were sharp. “You call me, you even get a whiff of something foul.”

Johnny nodded again and they parted ways.

Boyd worked two night shifts in a row and he stared into the eyes of every man who looked at him funny. He’d made it a kind of game. How long could they last before they broke? They always looked away first, every single one.

Raylan would tell him it was dangerous, he was gonna provoke something. Boyd didn’t see it that way. If anything ever started, they would know where it had begun, or Boyd would anyway. And he’d feel comfortable with whatever went down after that.

He slept too long the next day and was woken by the ringing of his phone. He flipped it open carelessly and put it to his ear, but didn’t say a word over the line.

“Boyd?” Raylan said uncertainly. “You there?”

“Mmmm,” Boyd agreed, rolling over slightly, pressing the phone between his ear and the pillow.

He could hear the smile in Raylan’s voice. “Did I wake you up, darlin’?”

“What do you think, Raylan?” Boyd mumbled and when Raylan didn’t answer he asked with a sigh, “What’d you call for, baby?”

There was a slight pause over the line then Raylan answered, “I think you should come back up to Lexington.”

Now Boyd was awake. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Raylan, it’s Friday, ain’t it? I’m fairly certain I did not sleep through the goddamn weekend. I thought you were comin’ home tonight.”

“I got a surprise for you,” Raylan told him. “And I promise it ain’t the lawyer’s again. Come back up, darlin’. Please.”

Boyd leaned his arms on his knees and rested his forehead on his fingers. There was no way Raylan had already found a new place, but he was asking real nice and Boyd was going to need to take care of something up there anyway. He found himself smiling as he replied, “All right, baby. I’ll see you at the motel?”

“No,” Raylan answered immediately. “I’m gonna text you an address,” which was a thing they’d just started doing and Boyd really wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “Meet me there at like seven, okay?”

Boyd grinned. Raylan had found another band he liked. “All right, Raylan. But do you think we can drive back down on Saturday?”

“Let’s play it by ear,” Raylan replied.

 

The bar to which Raylan had directed Boyd wasn’t half bad. It had a nice atmosphere, wasn’t too big, and seemed to have a good, if small, menu selection. There was a band setting up to play when Boyd arrived, but he’d checked the sign outside and it wasn’t anyone he’d ever heard of before. 

He couldn’t really imagine Raylan going out of his way to find the name and show of a band completely foreign to him, but he shrugged it off as he looked for his boy along the bar. Sure enough, Raylan was sitting there, cowboy hat on, flirting with the pretty blonde pouring him a drink. Boyd smiled.

When he approached, the blonde gave him a look, up and down, and leaned over to Raylan, asking “Is this the guy?”

“Hey,” Raylan said to him instead of answering her. He looked nervous, but Boyd had no idea why that would be.

“Hey, baby,” Boyd returned and Raylan’s grin practically split his face in half.

The girl pulled out a glass and poured another of whatever Raylan was drinking. “My name’s Lindsey,” she said and stuck out a hand.

Boyd took it, surprised, and gave his name.

“I’m happy you two’ll be around. It’ll sure make life more interesting ‘round here,” she told them. Then walked down the bar to help somebody else.

“What did she mean by that, Raylan?” Boyd asked, leaning an elbow discreetly against his.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Raylan said and Boyd was absolutely sure he was lying, but he didn’t say anything because Raylan added, “The band’s gonna start.”

So they just listened and drank for a while and during the break Raylan talked to him about Art’s wife still not being back, so he, Rachel, and Tim actually had been subjected to the chief's cooking the previous night. He revealed, though it was plain old burgers on the back porch, that it wasn’t bad and they’d had a good time all together for the first time in a long while.

Boyd looked around the place as he talked, asking a question here and there, and biding his time about the surprise Raylan had mentioned. He was a patient man, so he wasn’t going to push it, though his curiosity was increasing by the minute.

Then something occurred to him and he couldn’t hold back from asking, “Raylan, there ain’t no reason you don’t want to go home, is there?” Boyd was usually pretty good at figuring out when Raylan was unhappy, but with all this mysteriousness, he felt a little lost.

Raylan blinked at him. “What? No, darlin’,” he seemed about to say something else then he just laughed and finished his drink.

“I’m only askin’ because--” But he couldn’t finish the thought, as Raylan had laid some money on the table--though only about three dollars, not enough to pay in full--and snatched up Boyd’s hand, pulling him from the bar. He led him around it and to a doorway which led to some stairs going up.

Lindsey was tallying somebody’s check at the end of the bar nearby and she looked up and smiled at them. “Night, boys,” she called as Raylan started up the stairs.

When they reached the top and Raylan unlocked a door to a small apartment, Boyd said, “Well, shit.” 

Raylan leaned against the wall just inside the doorway and grinned at him, like he was thinking about asking, hadn’t he done good? “Go on in,” he said. “Look around.”

Boyd walked forward, noticing the few things strewn about the room that Raylan had moved from the motel: his clothes in the closet and some amenities in the bathroom. Boyd had sort of forgotten that nothing in that room, the furniture, the bedding, even the clock radio, really belonged to Raylan. He noticed a few new things, though nothing simply decorative, that Raylan must have bought himself after he moved in.

“It's nice,” he said and meant it.

Raylan snorted. “Shut up. No it ain't.” He stomped his boot on the floor, through which you could hear the band playing on beneath. “It’s only gonna get louder, as the night goes on.”

Boyd shrugged. He’d slept through things that were much louder than some iffy country rock through the floor. He was fairly sure Raylan had too.

“When did you find it?” Boyd asked.

“Well, I told you about what happened with the judge?”

“Yeah,” Boyd answered, then reiterated. “What an asshole.”

Raylan smiled, stepping further into the place, following Boyd down the short hallway and into the bedroom, watching him as he looked into the kitchen and tiny eating area. “I sat down at the bar after that since I was off the clock. Got to talking with the bartender about this and that, needing a new place to sleep during the week. Turns out, he owns the titty bar and this place and he needed somebody to live up here.”

“That’s a fortunate coincidence,” Boyd murmured.

“Guess so. He knocked a hundred dollars off the rent ‘cause I said I’d bounce from time to time. And he’s all right with you,” Raylan added. ”Seems like a good guy.”

“You said you’d bounce?” Boyd barely even registered the other thing Raylan had told him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or smack him.

Raylan took his hat off like it was suddenly hot in the room. He looked away then looked back, saying, “Just if I got a free night. Or if I can’t go home on the weekend. Makes the price just about right.”

Boyd grinned at him, pulled him close and started backing up towards the bed. “Some men, baby, might find work like that demeaning, beneath someone with your kind of specialized training.”

“Well, you know me,” Raylan answered in a low voice, following him. “I don’t go for that kind of uppity bullshit.” He kissed Boyd then, solidly, breathing deep, then added almost as an afterthought, “Least I ain’t workin’ in the mine.”

Immediately he froze and with a pissed off sigh--undoubtedly at himself and not Boyd--tried to back off. “Shit, darlin’. I’m sorry,” he said.

Boyd wouldn’t let him go, tightening his hands. He smiled, real big and Raylan gave him this look like he was starting to get scared. “You’re in luck, baby, ‘cause I ain’t workin’ there no more either,” Boyd said, pulling them both back onto the bed and Raylan on top of him.

Raylan pulled himself up a bit so he could stare down at Boyd’s face. “What?” he asked incredulously. “What are you gonna do?”

Boyd just kept on smiling. He pulled a folded up pamphlet out of his pocket and handed it to Raylan, who took it, frowning. It was dark in the place. They hadn’t bothered to turn any lights on, so Raylan climbed off Boyd and further up the bed to switch on the lamp sitting on his bedside table.

“Well, I do not like the color of the walls in here,” Boyd said, looking around.

“It’s the color of the light bulb,” Raylan answered him distractedly. “They’re all this weird yellow. Haven’t changed ‘em yet.” He looked over the pamphlet and read out loud, like Boyd didn’t know, “Bluegrass Community and Technical College. Construction Technology. Associates in Applied Science.”

Boyd was still lying on his back, looking up at Raylan, though now more sideways than before as he said, “I do not believe it’s quite as fancy as it sounds.”

Raylan smiled at him. “It sounds great.”

“I hope so,” Boyd replied as Raylan slid back down to him, now by his side and pulling him close.

“But you quit?” Raylan asked. “You’re not going to work your way through?”

Boyd let his hands rest on Raylan’s waist as he answered, “Well, that was the original plan. But I went to the office today to tell them what I was gonna do, so they could change my schedule when the time came, if I needed, and that manager looked right in my eyes and said if I wasn’t gonna have time for the shifts I was pulling now I might as well not come back again.”

“Talk about assholes,” Raylan said with a cynical laugh. He bent his forehead to touch Boyd’s, his hands sliding up and down Boyd’s arms.

“They just don’t want their men tryin’ to improve themselves, move on to something better,” Boyd spoke the truth they both knew. 

“That shit’s against the law, Boyd,” Raylan spoke darkly.

“A corporation’s not a criminal, baby, and I ain’t dragging myself into civil court over this.” Boyd smiled again, made Raylan look right at him. “I got a back up plan anyway, Raylan. The one good thing my daddy impressed upon me. Always have more than one plan.”

“What are you up to?” Raylan asked suspiciously.

“Shut up,” Boyd said pulling himself closer. “You were the one, said I shouldn’t leave _all_ of Bo’s money in the ground with him.”

“You dig it up?” Raylan spoke to his ear.

Boyd answered as Raylan started kissing down his neck. He was getting warm, distracted. “Some of it. Enough to pay for the first semester, pitch in where I can. Gave some to Johnny too.”

“He don’t deserve it,” Raylan growled softly. They try not to talk about Johnny too much. Boyd put his hands on Raylan’s tie, slipping it off before Raylan could dip down and catch his lips.

“He helped me find it. Gotta keep,” Raylan’s hands were at his pants and Boyd hitched his breath, “him happy.”

As if something important just occurred to him, Raylan pulled back and stretched across the bed to snatch the pamphlet back up. “Boyd, this place is in Lexington. Why didn’t you go for the community college in Harlan?”

Boyd grinned wide now and drew him back down real close. “I want to be where you are for a while,” he said and Raylan grinned too. “I like you near me. I like me near you. We’ll go back to Harlan on the weekends.”

Raylan kissed him again, this time deeper, longer and half their clothes were off by the time they broke apart again. “We’ll go home tomorrow, if you want,” Raylan said, breathing heavy. His cock was hard in Boyd’s hand and he groaned, reaching for Boyd’s.

“Baby,” Boyd said sincerely. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re home right now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Thornfield_Girl and EngageProtocol for betaing once again. I hope everyone enjoys this little interlude in this crazytown 'verse of mine. S2 Au is up next. :D


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